


Headbutting supermutants (and other ill-advised life choices)

by mVincentJ



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Polyamorous relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mVincentJ/pseuds/mVincentJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole gets a little sloppy, but luckily they've got companions to help them out.</p><p> </p><p>(Also known as "can ghouls snore without noses?")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> very first fallout fanfiction and it was such fun to write! I've gone with the most boring name for sole at the moment because I'm not sure what I wanted to call a nb sole.

It'd been an unfortunate clash with some supermutants. 

 

Sole and Hancock had been clearing the area out for some nearby settlers, who's Sole's eyes went soft for when they heard a child in the shack, so they go in head first and guns blazing. Straight from the settlement. Sole lead the assault as usual and Hancock kept to their flank, always watching their back. 

A huff or two of jet always made this better. Shooting bad guys was cool but shooting them in slow motion? It made him feel like a badass, like he could do anything. Hancock took out a supermutant suicider that was rushing them from behind with a couple of choice shells to the head.Turning around to share a victorious grin with Sole- he instead found a grunting brute next to him, holding a barbed wire covered board. 

“Not exactly the mug I was expecting,” he grunted then hit it with the butt of his gun, watching the creature hit the floor. Sole had headed into the shack while he was dealing with a mutie and left him out here. “Some people just want all the f-” Hancock paused mid sentence as he finds the familiar blue on the ground rather than stood up giving him a cheeky grin or looting through some pile of crap. 

It wasn't so much the blood that bothered him, his vaultie got roughed up all the time, it was the fact they weren't getting up from the blow. He wasn't sure if the jet was making everything still go fast because he was crouched next to them in record time. It didn't feel like the jet though. 

Sole let out a groan and he could breath again. “Hit m’head..” Came the hoarse voice of Sole, who turned their head to spit out a little blood. He nodded blindly cataloguing the injuries. So, concussion. Cuts on their face and a gash on their shooting arm. Too deep for a stimpak, stitches. They'd need stitches. Sole was giving him a dozy smile and it'd probably be cute if they were sleepy and happy not covered in blood and had their brain bashed about. 

“You gotta use your head more, sunshine. And not to headbutt supermutants.” They giggled a very un-Sole-like laugh and tried to sit up. “Okay okay, stay still, I gotcha.” the reassurance was wrong. He was no first aider, even if he did self medicate. After telling them to stay still, the ghoul dug through the pocket of his frock coat, pulling out some Med-x. Slow the bleeding and stop the pain. He quickly found a vein on the smooth skin arm and injected the purple shit into the vein.

Thin and half dead he might be, but he still had enough muscle left on him to help Sole onto their feet and get one of their arms around him. Walking around the commonwealth with an injured companion was not, in any way, safe, but hurrying wasn't going to happen too much. 

So they took it slow, Hancock half panicked whenever Sole stumbled or dozed by his side. It reminded him of himself on a bad trip. He'd swallow his panic each time and just say something teasing. He refused to lose someone this important. “Looks like someone took five too many daytrippers, huh?” they'd been walking a long time, so long that Sole’s pipboy was lighting the way with a whitish glow. An hour or so later, trying to keep Sole awake,"Sunshine you're gonna make me go feral with worry if you keep this up." Hancock relaxed a little when they mumbled something back.. about him already being feral in bed. 

When the red (grey in this light) lettering of the Red Rocket truck stop came into view, Hancock's organs actually came back online and adrenaline rushed him into the small building straight to the cots Sole themself had built in the workshop. With no mind for the blood, he set them down on the bed. 

“Didn't think you trouble makers would be back so-” Nick paused when he saw the panic in the ghouls black eyes, swallowing unnecessarily. He wasn't wearing his trademark patched trench coat, as he'd settled in for the night. 

“Can you do stitches Valentine? Should I get Curie? Help me out here.”

The synth leant over the bed, revealing barely awake Sole, who reached for his face woozily. 

“Did you give them chems?”

Hancock bristled a little at the accusatory tone, “Med-X.”

He nodded and pulled away from them to rifle through their rucksack. Hancock had got up against Sole's  side and was holding their smooth skinned hand between his leathery ones. Their hand was still warm, and he kept squeezing it to remind them he was there.

 

“Stay still sweetheart,” Nick murmured as he neared with the needle. It was probably unnecessary as the human was still doped up on Med-X after the ghoul had administered some more for the pain of stitches. He couldn't hold the small needle in his metallic hand so the colder one held down Sole’s arm. 

His hands didn't shake, and he was only panicking inwardly not outwardly. Too many servos to allow a reaction that would fuck this up. Not like Hancock who was fidgeting and itching across Sole, looking like he needed some kinda hit to keep going. He was just glad he'd got Sole back here. 

Servos whirring with concentration, he neatly stitched up the wounds, arm first, then the ones on their cheek. Luckily the cut on their lip wasn't so deep. Sole winced a few times but didn't flinch away. Once he was done with the thread and needle, he set them back in the rucksack and returned with a stimpak.

“Didn't know you could do that.” 

“You learn a few things as a detective.” the stimpak was quickly helping the wounds knit together now everything was held together. Curie could take a look come morning, but Sole had needed assistance now.

Sole's eyes flicked back open. “I'm really thirsty?” they mumbled, eyes still glazed. When Hancock got to his feet, hand rapping against his thigh, Nick's eyes flicked up to him, and nodded. The ghoul headed to fetch the water and Nick sat beside Sole on the bed. “You gave us a scare, back there.” Sole reached up for his face again but achieved more this time, grabbing hold of his fedora and pulling it off. He raised his eyebrows at the immature behaviour.

“I thought detectives were fearless.”

“My parts can be replaced, darlin.”

Sole gave him a somber look, which was slightly dampened by the hat clutched against their chest. He noticed the dark rings under their green eyes and sighed a little. He wished they'd stay at Sanctuary more, sleep more, so they'd get less sloppy. But the longer they stayed in one place the itchier they become to roam and help people. They were the same in that respect, impatient when they're not in the field. Hancock was back, with a can of purified water and with a more relaxed look. This wasn't the time for reprimands. 

“Hey trouble. I went and procured you a beverage.” They slowly sat up to carefully drink the clean cool water, only passing the can back when it was empty. Hancock discarded the can and joined them on the pushed together cots.

It was easy to get back in the usual routine after Sole wasn't in pain. Closing the garage door, removing any armour or unnecessary clothes, settling down on the beds, Hancock maybe having some chems, maybe a cigarette himself. Although Sole was the one between them who required a full night's sleep, it was a comfortable routine. It was nice to wind down a little even if it wasn't strictly necessary. 

When the vault suit was kicked to the floor, along with a frock coat, two hats and various other items of clothing, Sole seemed pleased.

“Your breath smells like berry mentats.” Sole mumbled to Hancock.

“It's the best flavour.” They chuckled a little at his reply before rolling over clumsily to cup his jaw and take a second goodnight kiss. Their lips were warm against his and his hand rested upon their waist. He didn't touch their face blindly, wanting to avoid nudging the healing cuts. 

They pulled back, then joined once more for an extra peck. Kissing plastic with little give must have been strange, but Sole never complained before. Everyone was jostled as Sole belated remembered to grab the blankets and pull them up.

 

It felt so comfortable wedged between their two companions, warm (leathery, but that barely registered anymore,) skin behind them and firm plating (not cold but not too warm) in front. Hancock's face was dipped into their neck, arm over their hip- Nick’s smoother hand rested just below the rib cage. Sole's arm lay carefully on their side, to not jostle the stitches, weighed down slightly by the pipboy that Sole didn't usually bother removing. Too used to being careful for raiders. 

With a blanket draped over them and the door firmly shut it was easy to feel like they were the only people left in the world. No institute, no Brotherhood, no crazy factions or monsters. Just them and a rickety bed that creaked when Hancock moved about in his sleep, or when Nick got up to look over some cases during the night.

It was nights like these that made Sole glad they had survived two hundred years into the future. Glad that they adapted and let new people in. 

A snore vibrated against Sole's neck and they rolled their eyes good naturedly. “You should follow his example,” Nick intoned, and the last thing they saw before they slept was Nick's eyes glowing brighter as he started taking diagnostics. 


	2. Good dog best friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sole gets injured, again.

Dogmeat whined. Him and human had been dealing with the bad humans holed up in a broken down building. Creaky floors. Human had wrestled with a clanking man, growling at him and hitting him with the shiny knuckles. And then, crash.

Dogmeat peered over the edge of the hole to the ground floor, to crumpled human and man. Owner barked weakly, ”I'm okay, boy, “ he whined again. Winding around the corpses he padded down the stairs and to Human's side. The man was crumpled and broken, but owner’s legs didn't look right either. With a softer bark human stroked his ears. He stood on their thigh to lick and nose at their face. Time to go. 

Human shook their head, eyes leaking. “I can't. Can you get help? Bring someone?” Their barking was desperate and pained and Dogmeat licked their cheek.

You don't leave packmates. Dogmeat whimpered when human wouldn't stand. He needed to fetch help. After sniffing around the building and making sure there was no imminent dangers he barked. Stay. Human’s face just leaked more and they made the ‘good dog’ face.

Dogmeat had a lot of practise at not being seen. Other dogs ignored him and creatures didn't mind him (well, minus Deathclaws). He wasn't a threat to humans if he kept running where he was going. 

And that was to the high wall pack house. To soft voice hat-human. Careening over the rubble entrance Dogmeat barked, barked a lot. Faces peeked from the different door arches then Soft-voice arrived with his packmates and Dogmeat barked more, urgent.

“Where’s the general, boy?” soft-voice wasn't doing the ‘good boy’ face, but he wasn't growling. With a last bark, Dogmeat made a quick turn and started at a run again. 

Soft-voice and two packmates followed, slowing him down with their loudness. He had to stop occasionally to make sure they were still following him. Dogmeat barked at them whenever they stopped to kill something, dancing on his paws. They had to get to owner. 

After too long, Dogmeat stopped outside. There were sounds of dead things and bullets. The humans were barking quietly and Dogmeat nudged at the ajar door. Owner was in the back. When he snuck in he could smell soft-voice behind him. A red flash dropped a human, and Dogmeat ran for it, into the back room, finding owner holding a bangstick (no fetching those), and three rotting deads around them. He woofed softly.

The pack soon joined him and owner made the good dog face and hugged him tight. Dogmeat licked the blue material. After that he let soft-voice take charge, him and another helping Human up. The noises of pain made Dogmeat whimper. Having his Human in pain wasn't good. He kept watch as they took owner back to the high walled kennels, biting anyone or anything that got in his way.

 

Dogmeat wasn't a lapdog by any means. Such a thing didn't exist in the commonwealth, there was no use for an animal that just lay about and looked pretty. But when owner couldn't walk he stayed with them for a long time, instead of his usual wandering when he was alone. Guard duty for his packmate prioritised over hunting molerats. It wasn’t so bad, Owner would even throw things he brought to their bed. It was good, even when others came in. He would growl when they'd enter, thoroughly sniff them, then let them through if they were permitted. No-smell with the funny voice came first, prodding and poking owner a lot and making them yell as the leg was straightened out. Dogmeat whimpered in sympathy.

Day two brought soft-voice back, sitting on Owner’s bed and stinking of worry- but owner reassured him with little pats. Dogmeat even leaned up against his leg, cocking his head at him and willing him to be a little happier. Owner was okay after all. He left at a run when one of his pack peeked around the door and barked urgently. Dogmeat whined when Owner tried to follow him, getting directly in their way and fixing them with a determined look. Owner sighed and lay back down, wincing a little with pain. Through day two owner looked to the doorway a lot, face screwing up.

At day three of guard duty an interesting mix of smells made him wander from his post all the way to the edge of high walls kennel. Owner's favourites? He tilted his head at the smell of worry and padded through the rubble towards them. The first time he'd met them he was wary because one smelt of crackly-voice uneatables that attacked them and the other of rotting-growlers. He’d helped the crackly voice before, sniffing things out and finding lost people. The half rotten one he was more wary of, but owner had a good judge of character, and he smelt of berries. So he approached dead-smell and electric with a pleased woof.

“If it ain't the hero of the hour.” Black eyes glinted a little.

Electric crouched down and scratched behind his ears with the cold hand and he wagged his tail. Electric-smell always gave good scritches, even though he couldn't smell his emotions, he was usually ‘good dog’ face. When he straightened up, Dogmeat escorted them to owner's kennel, barking as he entered like he'd won fetch.

Owner startled and sat up in their bed, their good dog face lighting up the room.

The tang of worry on dead-smell didn't fade entirely but they all were barking softly between them. Dogmeat retrieved his big bone (found in a super mutant meat bag) from under human's bed and chewed at it beside the door. Those packmates would look after owner for now. So Dogmeat napped.

 

When Dogmeat woke up owner and berry-deadsmell were asleep on the bed. He sniffed the air, and stretched out on the cold floor. He tucked his bone away, besides the teddy bear under the full bed. Owner’s wonky leg was sticking out of the bed, straight and supported by what looked like a stick. After a loud snore, he padded out of the room into the cool corridor. Electric was leant against the wall, smelling of smoke.

He woofed conversationally, and Electric smell said something back, using his fleshy hand to pet his ears. 

“Thanks, Dogmeat. You really did me a favour back there.”  
He looked up at crackly voice with brown eyes, then leant into his hand and plopped his butt down on the cold stone floor next to him. He was a good dog.

**Author's Note:**

> any critique on characterization is so welcome and i hope the pov swapping wasn't too confusing!!  
> snoring hancock is my headcanon


End file.
